Chapter 125: Yves King Five Years Ago (Seeking Monthly Tickets)_1

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In the bathroom, Yves King let the cold water gush from the showerhead onto his head and body, hoping that the icy pricks of pain would alleviate the agony welling up within his heart.

Time seemed to travel back to more than five years ago.

At the humid, densely jungled borderland.

A coach was parked haphazardly by the side of the bumpy road. Nearly twenty passengers, a mix of men and women, young and old, had been commandeered. A local coach driver, who had been shot in the right leg, was convulsing and moaning in the aisle.

The gangsters with black covers over their heads were professionally using the civilian hostages as shields, continually changing their positions to avoid getting picked off by snipers. The snipers of the Frontier Wolves were formidable.

The Frontier Wolves. Perhaps they were not well-known domestically, but at the border, they were illustrious. Many people in that line of work would tremble in trepidation at the sound of their name.